


A Knife in the Dark

by celeste9



Category: Primeval
Genre: Gen, Historical, Inspired by Art, Minor Violence, Plotty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/pseuds/celeste9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We're only staying long enough to..." Becker stopped before he could say stop Jack the Ripper, because there were some things that were just too much. "To stop this bloke," he amended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Knife in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the reverse art challenge on Primeval Denial. The wonderful art by eriah211 that inspired this (and made me write Helen for the first time!) can be found [here](http://eriah211.livejournal.com/15877.html), please go there and comment! She has also kindly made me my header. Thank you to fredbassett for the beta. This is based on actual events, but obviously I have somewhat fictionalized them. Did you know you can see the actual crime scene photos of Mary Jane Kelly? I don't recommend looking for them if you don't have a strong stomach. I realized after I'd picked the title that I'd stolen it from Tolkien, oops.

[ ](http://s362.photobucket.com/user/ceteste9/media/Art-prompt_banner_zpsba014545.jpg.html)

Helen was waiting for them when they arrived at the anomaly. She was sitting on an overturned crate in the warehouse, sharpening her knife. The strangest thing, though, was that she was wearing a dress with matching elbow-length gloves. A long, full-skirted, fancy lavender dress of the type Becker would have expected to see in a film set in the Victorian era.

Jenny strode forward. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

Helen stood up, hitching up her dress so she could slide her knife back into its sheath and then holding up her arms. She directed that aggravating, smug, ‘I know something you don’t’ little smile at Becker and said, “Going to shoot me, Captain?”

Becker aimed his pistol at her head. “Test me and find out.”

“Hold on, no one’s shooting anyone,” Danny said, positioning himself between Becker and Helen.

Backing up one step, then another, Helen was framed in the glow of the anomaly. “You’re going to want to come through this one,” she said and then disappeared.

“Damn it,” Jenny swore and started after Helen, only stopping when Danny grabbed her arm. 

“Don’t let her bait you like that.”

“You can’t stop me following her. I’m going after her,” Jenny declared, her soft brown eyes going fierce.

“Jenny, be sensible.”

While it was true Becker hadn’t known them terribly long, he still would never have dreamt he’d see the day when Danny was telling Jenny to be sensible. Judging by their expressions, the irony wasn’t lost on either Danny or Jenny.

“She killed Nick. I need her to look me in the eyes and tell me why, at the very least.”

With growing dismay, Becker realised that Danny was going to agree. He took a step closer. “You can’t possibly think this is a good idea.”

Danny’s mouth tilted wryly. “When are any of our ideas good ones? We’ll just pop through, find the bitch, and pop back. It won’t take long.”

Becker raised his eyes skyward and restrained his less than professional urges. Clearly there was something wrong with the chain of command when Danny got to make crazy decisions and Becker couldn’t veto them. “You realise you’re tempting fate just by saying that, don’t you?” He walked to his men and arranged a watch, then turned to Abby and Connor.

“Staying here, then?” Abby said with a sigh.

“Afraid so.”

“Yeah, keep all the fun to yourselves,” Connor said with a small scowl.

Becker thought to himself that ‘fun’ wasn’t quite the word he would have chosen to use. “How’s your locking device working?”

Connor shifted his weight and looked uncomfortable. “Dunno, do I? I mean, it should work, but I really won’t know until I try.”

“Okay, well, give us an hour and then lock it. Open it again for five minutes every two hours, on the hour, until we return.”

“And if it closes before you come back?”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Becker rejoined Danny and Jenny, close to the anomaly.

“You don’t even know where it goes, do you?” Abby asked, chewing on her lip.

Danny shrugged. “More exciting this way, yeah? Anyway, unless Helen’s gone completely barmy--”

“I think it’s safe to say she has,” Becker muttered.

“--I’m going to go out on a limb and say nineteenth century.” Danny rested his hand on his holstered Glock 17. “Probably won’t even need this.”

“Tempting fate,” Becker repeated, wanting to knock Danny on the head. 

Danny only grinned cheekily at him and Becker rolled his eyes. 

He stepped through the anomaly into a dusty room with barrels in the corner and a floor strewn with pieces of straw and other debris he was trying not to think too hard about. It appeared empty, even of Helen, and he reluctantly accepted that they may have to try to track her.

“I suppose she’s long gone,” Jenny said with a sigh from behind Becker.

“We’ll find her,” Danny said in an encouraging tone.

There was some sort of clipping hanging on a wall that Becker went to inspect in the hopes it would tell him what year it was. “Ghastly murder in the East End?” he read with growing trepidation. “Leather Apron? Isn’t that what they called--”

“Jack the Ripper,” Jenny finished in a tight voice.

“Told you you’d want to come through,” Helen said, stepping out from the shadows.

Becker raised his gun immediately but Helen didn’t even spare him a glance.

“I know who he is.”

“You know who Jack the Ripper is,” Danny scoffed.

Helen raised an eyebrow. “I’ve tracked him. He isn’t from this era at all; he’s been traveling through the anomalies.”

“You’re serious.”

“Of course. He’s killed people, Mr Quinn. This is no laughing matter.”

“He’s killed people?” Jenny repeated, her whole body tensing. “What, like you have?”

“No, not like I have,” Helen said, her voice uncommonly soft. “He’s a monster; he has to be stopped. The police are entirely out of their depth.”

“So, what, you want us to help you? After what you’ve done? After what you did to Nick?” 

“I’ll admit it would be easier with your help.”

“You’re mad,” Becker said.

“Suit yourselves,” Helen said with a shrug. “I simply thought you wouldn’t be able to stomach leaving a disturbed man from out of his time loose to terrorise innocent people.”

“No, she’s right,” Jenny said, the words seeming to pain her. “We have to stop this.”

“Oh, how lovely.” Helen’s smile had a feral tinge to it. “We’re going to make a splendid team, don’t you think?”

“As long as you keep your mouth shut, yes, I believe we will,” Jenny said, quite pleasantly. She regarded the rest of them, already moving on to practicalities. “First things first; we need some new clothes.”

“What for?” Becker asked. “We’re only staying long enough to...” Becker stopped before he said _catch Jack the Ripper,_ because there were some things that were just too much. “To stop this bloke,” he amended.

“Because we’ll draw attention to ourselves dressed like this.”

“I can see how you would, but I’m in black. All the men are going to be dressed in black.”

Jenny eyed him dubiously and Becker fidgeted. Jenny had an unsettling tendency to make him feel like she was his headmistress and he had offended her deeply. “You’re carrying two guns and a knife that I can see, and God knows what else. You’re hardly inconspicuous.”

Becker looked down at himself and conceded that she had a point. Gun control laws may have been more lax in the nineteenth century but it likely wasn’t wise to go running about heavily armed when they needed to pass under the radar. “Maybe a coat,” he relented.

“So, when we find this Jack the Ripper bloke, what exactly are we going to do with him?” Danny asked.

“Shoot him, I expect.” That was what Becker would like to do with him, anyway.

“We’re not going to shoot him,” Jenny said, disapproval shining in her face.

“Why not? He’s a murderer, he mutilated women.”

“That doesn’t mean we should--”

“We’ll worry about it later, yeah?” Danny interrupted, rather diplomatically for him. It was a sorry state of affairs when Danny was behaving the most sensibly out of all of them. “What’s most important at the moment is the fact we stick out like sore thumbs.”

“I can help with that,” Helen said, smoothing the skirts of her own dress. She retrieved a long coat that she had apparently left in a corner near the anomaly and put it on. “I have a friend.”

Becker highly doubted the veracity of the wording of that statement but accepted that she must, at the least, know someone willing to assist her. “Go on, then,” he said.

Helen’s eyes narrowed but she said nothing in protest of Becker’s shooing. She led them out of the building and into the street, where they were, in fact, subjected to quite a lot of staring. Particularly Jenny, in her fitted jeans and jacket.

To be fair, though, Helen was getting her share of odd looks as well, given that she looked far too fancy for the shabby area of London they had found themselves in. Her coat was dark and plain but didn’t quite hide the expensive-looking dress beneath. Her hem was brushing against the ground and picking up bits of muck as she went along that made Becker want to wrinkle his nose.

Damn, it was filthy. The smell had been muted while they remained indoors but being in the street was enough to make you gag. Becker was trying not to think about the origins of said smell. He side-stepped a stinking pile of horse shit and eyed the windows warily. Did people still chuck rubbish out of them in the 1800s? He wasn’t keen to find out.

There was quite a large number of ragged children about as well, crying wares and trying to earn coins however they could. If Becker had had any money in his pockets he would have been concerned about retaining it.

Helen merely swept through the streets with ease, however, just like she had been born there. Becker found himself curious as to whether, after so much time wandering through the past, Helen felt more comfortable out of her time than she did in it. To be quite honest, he wouldn’t have minded her deciding to spend all her time elsewhere. Maybe there was a way to subtly encourage her to do so.

She took them to a dingy, secondhand shop that was empty when they walked in. The counter was dusty and dirt had been trailed in on the floor.

Jenny side-eyed Helen. “You got that dress here?”

Helen lifted her hands briefly and let them fall. “I said, he’s a friend.” 

As she spoke, a man stepped in from the back, visibly startling when he saw them and blinking owlishly at Helen. “Mrs Cutter, a pleasure, though I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” He had a bit of a stutter.

“As you can see, I’ve brought some friends in need of new garments. I thought surely you could help me.”

“Of… of course! Is there anything in particular I can get for you?”

“One of mine should do nicely for Miss Lewis, I think, perhaps the red?”

The shopkeeper subjected Jenny to a completely unsubtle once-over. “Yes, quite. The red.”

“For the good captain, just an overcoat, and for Mr Quinn… Oh, something simple. Black trousers, shirt, coat. Skip the waistcoat, there’s no need for it.”

“Right away, madam.” The man ducked into the back again immediately.

It took him only a moment to reappear with a heavy-looking dark red dress in his arms. “Miss… Lewis? If you’d come in the back with me, you can get dressed.”

Jenny glanced swiftly at Becker and Danny but went with the man. Helen followed, uninvited.

“Now, gentlemen, if you would,” the man said soon after, popping back into the front of the shop and gesturing. The knowledge that Helen and Jenny had been left alone together filled Becker with a vague sense of dread.

Danny shrugged at Becker and they both walked into the back, into a room filled with boxes and shelves, clothing laid out everywhere. The room had an unpleasant, musty smell. The shopkeeper took the measure of Danny with his eyes and pulled out a few items, handing them over. 

While Danny dressed, Becker was given a long dark coat to wear, of the sort well-suited to dramatically swirling around corners. He didn’t even hate it. 

It was dusk when they exited the shop, the gas lights lit and leaving a soft glow in the foggy evening. The fog was definitely real, a visible, dark, yellowish thing, just like in a Dickens novel. It wasn’t hard to imagine people getting lost in it.

“Mary Jane Kelly,” Helen said.

“Mary Jane Kelly?” Danny repeated.

“The last of the canonical five victims,” Jenny spoke up, fussing with the ends of her long sleeves. “What?” she asked when everyone turned to stare at her. “My ex-fiancé had a hobby. I picked up some things.”

“Your ex-fiancé’s hobby was serial killers? No wonder he’s your ex,” Becker couldn’t help but say.

The corners of Jenny’s mouth uplifted in a small smile but she said, “So? What about Mary Jane Kelly?”

“It’s November the eighth, 1888,” Helen explained. “Mary Jane Kelly’s body was discovered on November the ninth, just before eleven in the morning.”

“And you decided to keep that information to yourself all this time?” Becker said, indignation growing. “We’ve been faffing about trying on clothes while a woman’s life is in danger.”

Helen shrugged. “You think you can change history, Captain Becker?”

“I’m damn well going to try.”

“Of course we’re going to try,” Jenny said firmly. “You said you know who Jack the Ripper is, well, where is he?”

“If I knew that, do you think I’d need your help?” Even Helen was starting to sound vaguely irritated. “I know he’s here, and I know he’s responsible, but I haven’t the faintest idea where he’s spending his time.”

Jenny looked like she was about five seconds from tearing Helen’s hair out but Danny interjected quickly, “He killed prostitutes, right? So that’s where we’ll start.”

-

It turned out there were a lot of prostitutes in Whitechapel in the nineteenth century. It was depressing, really. Most of the women looked tired and worn and overly fond of hard drinking, and the set of Jenny’s jaw tightened further the more they saw. They were also almost entirely uncommunicative when approached with questions about Mary Jane Kelly or the murders.

Eventually they found a small group of women who were of slightly more help, and who couldn’t quite hide their telling reactions to the name Mary Jane Kelly.

“We’re looking for Mary Jane Kelly,” Helen said.

“Who’s asking?”

“We don’t want to cause you any trouble,” Jenny said, sliding into an easy, warm tone of voice. “We’re concerned for her safety.”

“You coppers or what?” A dark-haired woman with a Cockney accent looked them up and down. “Don’t look like it.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Well, she ain’t here.”

Becker stepped closer. “Where is she, then?”

“Oh, handsome, you don’t want her. Have me instead,” suggested a blonde woman, hitching up her skirt a bit in what was probably supposed to be an enticing manner. Mostly Becker thought it was sad.

“Another time, perhaps,” Becker said as politely as possible.

A redhead sidled up to him, giving him a view straight down her (truly impressive) cleavage and stroking her fingers up his arm. “I’d do you for free, handsome.”

“Oi!” said the blonde. “I saw him first.”

Danny snickered at Becker’s discomfort and made no attempt at distraction, even though it would have been easy to do so. Tosser. 

“Ladies, please, we have reason to believe that Miss Kelly is in danger,” Becker tried. “You must know of the Whitechapel murders. Jack the Ripper? Leather Apron?”

The two women seemed to immediately close off, backing away from Becker and eyeing him suspiciously. “Everyone knows of him,” said a stout, older brunette. 

“Then you know there’s a real need for concern.”

Unfortunately, none of the women were won over. They looked merely wary, plainly not willing to trust in a stranger. Becker found he couldn’t fault them for it, not when it was almost certainly what kept them alive.

“Have you seen a man hanging around?” Helen asked. “A little taller than me, stocky, dark hair, unshaven?”

The brunette snorted. “We do a fair trade in dark-haired men.” 

“This one would have been watching you, he--”

“What do you think the others are doing? If the men don’t watch us we’re not making a penny.”

“Fine,” Helen said, clearly starting to lose her temper. “Can you at least tell us how to get to Dorset Street from here?”

The woman narrowed her eyes but obliged.

Jenny made one last concerned effort. “Please, if you see Miss Kelly, you must tell her to be careful, tell her not to be alone.”

Seemingly swayed by Jenny’s sincerity, the woman nodded, and Danny touched Jenny’s elbow to urge her along with them.

“What’s on Dorset Street?” Becker asked.

“13 Miller’s Court,” Helen explained. “Mary Jane Kelly’s residence and the location of her murder. It’s where her body was found, in her bed.”

“Stakeout?” Danny said.

“Unless anyone has a better idea.”

No one did.

-

Miller’s Court was a small cul-de-sac that you entered through an archway between buildings on Dorset Street. It was the sort of place that would have been easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it, the archway set in the brick of one of the buildings and no bigger than a regular door. “At least there’s only the one entrance,” Becker said. It would make things a hell of a lot easier.

“That one’s where Kelly lives,” Helen said, pointing at one of the dilapidated residences. “Her room’s at the back, there’s a broken window by the door where you can unbolt the door.”

Danny glanced at her. “What do you know so much for?” he asked, but Helen only gave him a disparaging look.

They peered in through the window at the tiny room and knocked on the door, but there was clearly no one home. Becker positioned himself by the archway so that he would see anyone approaching and they all simply set themselves to waiting. 

By that point it was fully night but there was still some movement on the streets. Though it was an obviously poor and disreputable area, Dorset Street itself was actually fairly well-lit by the array of gas lamps. It seemed to be full of mostly lodging houses, all dingy and in poor repair. A few people came into Miller’s Court but when questioned, no one could tell them anything about Mary Jane Kelly.

“So, Jack the Ripper’s already killed four people,” Danny said in a musing tone of voice. “This Kelly girl would be the last.”

Helen nodded as Danny stopped talking, apparently realising he was addressing her.

“Say we catch him, does that mean we changed things? Even if he still kills Kelly? If we stop him killing anyone else, is that us making sure history goes right? If we weren’t here, does that mean he would’ve killed again?”

“Shut up, Quinn,” Becker said, still staring out at Dorset Street. Time travel made his head hurt.

“It’s a fair question,” Danny insisted. “I’m curious; I just want to know if--”

“Why did you kill Nick?”

Becker’s gaze swung to Jenny. She was standing, leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest. She had that stubborn glint in her eye that meant she wasn’t going to stop pushing until she got what she wanted.

Helen chuckled softly. “You don’t mince words, do you?”

Jenny moved away from the wall to stand in front of Helen, until they were mere inches apart, quiet fury in the tense line of her shoulders. “He was a good man and he loved you, no matter what you did. He went back into the building that you blew up, to save you, and you shot him. How do you live with yourself?”

“Quite well, actually. I’ve always preferred my own company.”

“Just tell me why. Why did you do it?”

Helen shrugged unconcernedly and answered straight-forwardly enough. “You want to change the past, don’t you? I’m trying to change the future.”

“By killing Nick,” Jenny said disgustedly.

“Nick was going to ruin the world, no matter what he was telling himself. You’re trying to save one stupid whore but I want to save everything.”

Jenny’s breath huffed. “You’re insane. You know that, don’t you? You’re actually insane.”

Helen’s lips curved into that God damned smirk again. “We’ll see.”

A woman tugging a shawl around her shoulders turned into Miller’s Court and, finally, was able to tell them, “I’ve just seen her at the Ringer’s.”

“The Ringer’s?” Becker asked.

She eyed him like she thought he was dim and clarified, “The Britannia? The pub on Commercial Street?”

“Oh, right, of course.”

The woman hurried on past them, hunching in on herself, and ducked into one of the rooms at speed.

“Well, off to this pub, then,” Danny said. He sounded quite a lot more cheerful about the whole thing than Becker felt was warranted. He was probably enjoying himself, the daft bugger, wandering through the shady areas of Victorian London on the trail of one of the world’s most famous serial killers. “Becker, why don’t you take Helen and I’ll stay here with Jenny to make sure we don’t miss her.”

Becker wanted to protest going with Helen but was forced to see the logic in Danny’s decision. He certainly didn’t trust either Jenny or Danny with the woman.

They set off at a steady pace down Dorset Street, Helen’s dress swishing around her ankles. As he kept Helen clearly in his sights, Becker found himself suddenly curious how much the bloody thing weighed. It had to be awkwardly uncomfortable. He hoped it was, at least. He hoped Helen was miserable in it.

“Why did you really want us to come through this anomaly? I can’t believe that you actually care about the people here,” Becker said into the silence.

“What do you think, Captain?” Because of course Helen couldn’t ever just answer a sodding question.

“Damned if I know why you do any of the shit you do. For all I know you just want to mess with us.”

“I don’t have anything against you.”

_ No, just against your ex,  _ Becker thought. “So you set off a bomb in the ARC for shits and giggles, then?”

For an instant Becker almost thought he saw a flash of regret in Helen’s face, but of course he must have imagined it. 

“That was a necessary evil.”

“Right, of course. You’re just saving the world, pardon me for forgetting. I suppose I’m not much more inclined to believe you than Jenny was.”

“Oh, Jenny,” Helen repeated lightly, sighing a little. “I have a good deal of respect for her, you know.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you shot Nick Cutter.”

Any further conversation was halted as they reached the crossing of Commercial and Dorset. “I assume this is the one,” Becker said, sweeping his gaze over the building.

The atmosphere inside the Ringer’s was what one would call rowdy, Becker decided. All in all, though, not terribly different from the pubs he’d frequented in the twenty-first century, if a bit dirtier and smellier. Loud and noisy and full of drunks.

As they didn’t know what Mary Jane Kelly looked like, they yet again resorted to questioning. To anyone who knew Miss Kelly, Becker supposed he’d merely look like a client. Considering he needed her to accept his company, that probably wasn’t a bad thing.

It didn’t take them long to discover that a boisterous Irish woman seated at a table near the back, who had clearly had more than a few drinks, was the woman they were seeking. Mary Jane Kelly was prettier than most of the other prostitutes they’d spoken with, mid-twenties, blonde, fair skin. Also, prone to singing when she was drunk, it appeared.

“Miss Kelly?” Becker asked, sliding up close to her.

Her eyes raked over him. “Aye, that’s me. Looking for something, love?”

Helen’s sharp eyes were glinting with amusement but Becker ignored her. “Something you can give me,” he said, trying to sound flirtatious. He felt ridiculous; he didn’t even go to prostitutes in his own time, so he had no idea how to talk to one in the 1880s.

Kelly laughed and ran her fingers over Becker’s arm. “You’ll have to wait your turn.”

Becker noticed the man she was with and suppressed a groan. “I’ll pay you double what he will.”

“Well, aren’t you eager?” 

The other man, however, had got to his feet. “Like hell you will, find your own fucking whore.”

Becker realised he was going to end up in a fight if he pushed it and that certainly wouldn’t help anyone. Instead he tried another tactic, imploring Kelly, “I think you might be in trouble, I need you to--”

Kelly snorted. “Trouble? That’s nothing new, love.”

Helen impatiently shoved her way between them. “There’s someone killing off prostitutes in Whitechapel, right? We think you might be next.”

When Kelly immediately drew back, her face closing off, Becker inhaled deeply through his nose. Fuck it, he should’ve brought Jenny and left Helen with Danny. The woman had the interpersonal skills of a stampeding rhinoceros. God only knew how much time passed between Helen’s encounters with actual human beings. “We don’t mean to alarm you, Miss Kelly.”

“You don’t mean to alarm me? You tell me you think I’m about to get murdered but I shouldn’t be alarmed.” Kelly rose to her feet, her cheeks flushed with drink and anger. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but you stay away from me.”

“Miss Kelly, please,” Becker tried, reaching for her arm.

She knocked him away. “You could be him, for all I know! Stay away from me,” she repeated and stormed off, the hapless man she’d been with rushing after her.

“Thanks for that,” Becker said to Helen, furious. “Could you at least have _tried_ for some subtlety?”

Helen remained unconcerned. “It makes little difference. If she accepted our help or if we follow her, either way we’ll find the man we want.”

She truly didn’t care what happened to Kelly, that much was clear, but there was no use in standing there. Becker went after Kelly, not waiting for Helen and not caring if she followed.

“Damn it,” he swore as he reached the street but couldn’t see where Kelly had gone. He scanned the area and saw her prospective client, seemingly abandoned. “Where did she go?” he asked the man.

All the answer he received was a rude retort, but the man’s eyes flickered to an alley, so Becker figured that was as good an indication as any. Helen was trailing him at a distance, warily watching the passersby. He wondered if she actually would recognise the man they were hoping to find, or if that had been only a lie.

The alley seemed empty, but Becker slowed his pace slightly so he wouldn’t miss anything in the darkness. Kelly had the advantage of knowing the area and -

He noticed the flicker of movement too late and spun just in time to get a knife pressed to his throat. Becker’s first thought was to thank God Danny wasn’t there to witness the humiliating event.

“Leave me alone,” Kelly hissed, pressing the blade harder, nicking Becker’s skin. “I can slit a throat easy, too,” she warned before striking her knee upwards into Becker’s crotch.

“Fuck,” Becker swore, wincing. “Oh, fuck you.” He fell to his knees in the dirty street and Kelly hurried away.

Helen was smirking down at him. “Outmanoeuvred by a whore, Captain? I never thought you measured up to your predecessor and now I know that I was quite correct.”

“Fuck you,” Becker said again and forced himself to his feet, repressing the urge to protectively cradle his crotch. He put his hand to his neck instead, wiping away the small trickle of blood and making a mental note to see a medic when he got back. It would be just his luck to wind up with tetanus or something. 

With Kelly on to them and plainly not trusting them in the slightest, the best option seemed to be to return to Miller’s Court and regroup. It had started to rain, a cold, light drizzle.

To Becker’s mild surprise, he found Danny coming out of Miller’s Court and onto Dorset Street. “Saw a bloke,” Danny explained. “Suspicious sort, hanging around, but when we tried to approach him he ran. Never got a good look at him.”

“Jenny?”

“Left her at the house, just in case.”

Becker nodded. “Good. Come on, let’s--”

That was when they heard the scream. For the briefest of moments Becker shared an ‘oh, damn,’ look with Danny before they drew their guns and ran towards the sound. Becker heard Jenny’s voice but didn’t want to take the time to respond, knowing that she would follow them. 

That single scream was the only noise they heard and Becker feared that not only were they too late, they wouldn’t even find the bastard. He thought that changing the past should be easier than this; he thought they should have been able to stop it, knowing what was going to happen. He hated himself for wondering if Helen was right. Maybe he just wasn’t good enough. He’d let Helen wreck the ARC and kill Cutter and he couldn’t even save one single woman.

In an alley they saw a man with a knife held over the limp form of a woman who could only be Mary Jane Kelly, her throat slashed ear to ear, blood everywhere. Becker aimed his SIG at the man’s head and said, “Drop the knife!”

The man let the woman’s body slump onto the ground. Becker took another step closer, keeping his aim steady, and said again, “Drop the fucking knife!”

In the darkness the man’s face split into a disconcerting smile and he opened up his hand, the knife slipping from his grip to fall on the street with a clatter. Jenny took the opportunity to run to Kelly, though it was clear by the state of her neck and the amount of blood that it was too late.

“Patrick?” came Danny’s disbelieving voice.

The man started, his focus drawn to Danny.

“Patrick,” Danny repeated, lowering his Glock and stepping around Becker. “Bloody hell, Patrick, it’s… It’s me, Danny.”

To Becker’s utter shock, Danny embraced sodding Jack the Ripper. The man went still until his arms crept around Danny’s back. “Danny,” he said, soft and surprised.

“Well, isn’t this interesting,” Helen said, sounding vastly amused.

“Danny’s brother was called Patrick,” Jenny said, rather shell-shocked, though there wasn’t really any need to say it. She had risen to her feet, blood mixing with rainwater to pool around her skirt.

“Fuck me,” was all Becker could manage, unable to tear his gaze away from the sight before him. A reunion of brothers, which would have been touching if not for the fact that one of the men was bloody Jack the Ripper and had just murdered a woman in the street.

Deciding they’d had enough time, Becker pulled some cable ties out of a pocket and roughly jerked Patrick around, binding his hands behind his back. Danny’s eyes were glimmering with disapproval but he didn’t say anything. 

“We’re taking you back with us,” Becker said and dared anyone to argue.

“Of course we bloody are,” Danny said, forcing himself between Becker and Patrick. “We’re going to fix this, Patrick, yeah?” Danny looked desperate, pleading with every line of his face.

Patrick remained quiet, but there was an almost childlike vulnerability in the way he was carrying himself, completely at odds with the man who had only moments before slashed a woman’s throat for no apparent reason save the fact that he could.

“What about her?” Jenny asked sadly, looking to Mary Jane Kelly’s body. “We can’t just leave her.”

Becker didn’t want to leave her. It was cowardly and heartless, leaving her in the street in a pool of her own blood like she wasn’t worth anything, like she was just another dead whore that no one would miss. He didn’t want to leave her but he said, “We need to get, er, Patrick here through the anomaly. We can’t be found, especially not with a body.”

Jenny nodded reluctantly and then turned about, searching for something. “Damn it! Helen’s gone.”

She was. While they’d been preoccupied, Helen had taken her chance to disappear. Fuck her, Becker thought. Fuck her to hell. “It’s too late now. We’ve got to go.”

Screams and murders were apparently common enough in Whitechapel that no one had come near them, but Becker wasn’t taking any chances.

Danny seemed reluctant to let anyone else near his brother and was leading him himself, with a hand gripped around Patrick’s arm. Becker rushed their pace back to the anomaly site, suddenly unable to stop worrying that the anomaly would be closed. He did not want to be stuck in Victorian London, thank you very much.

Hearing a muttered exclamation, Becker turned his head to Jenny, who appeared to be fighting a losing battle with her dress. He raised an eyebrow.

Jenny grabbed fistfuls of her heavy skirt, sodden with rainwater, lifting it up higher to prevent it from dragging and catching so much. She noticed Becker watching her and smiled wryly. “Give me a pair of three-inch heels and a pencil skirt any day.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Now walking even with Becker, Jenny glanced back at Danny and Patrick. She said quietly, “I can’t believe that’s Danny’s brother.”

“If Helen was right and he did kill all those women, which, given what we saw tonight seems likely, he’s a psychopath. I think that trumps being Danny’s brother.”

“Danny’s not going to let anything happen to him.”

“I don’t think it will be up to him.”

They walked in silence for a little while longer before Jenny said, “Helen couldn’t possibly have known that that’s who he was. Could she?”

“I doubt it.” In all honesty, however, Becker had no idea what Helen Cutter did or didn’t know. All he was certain of was that she always knew more than she was telling.

When they reached the ramshackle building, the anomaly was still there, but locked. Becker checked his watch and said, “Should only be about five minutes, if they listened to me.” Which, to be frank, was a question mark. The ARC team thrived on not listening to Becker.

This time, thankfully, it seemed they had. Only a few minutes later the anomaly swirled open. Becker jerked his head to Danny and Danny nudged his brother forward, the two of them walking through.

“We did change history, you know,” Jenny said to Becker just before she went through the anomaly. “Mary Jane Kelly was found in her bed, likely having been killed in her sleep. Her body was so badly mutilated it was unrecognisable.”

“She’s still dead,” Becker said, and Jenny nodded tightly at him before going through.

“Good to see you, boss,” Jackson greeted Becker on the other side. “Temple wasn’t sure how much longer the thing would last.”

“At least one thing went right,” Becker said and moved to stand beside Jenny.

While they watched Danny leading Patrick through the warehouse, Jenny remarked in a bland tone just edging into incredulity, “We’ve just followed Helen Cutter into Victorian London and brought back Jack the Ripper, who turned out to be Danny’s not-so-deceased brother.”

Becker took a moment to think about where his military career had been supposed to go and where he had instead ended up. He often wondered whom he’d managed to piss off so much. 

Still, it could have been worse. He clapped Jenny on the shoulder and said, “Good luck explaining it all to Lester.”

**_ End _ **


End file.
